


hello, it's you, it's going to be you

by VeryImportantDemon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes-centric, Gen, He follows Bucky everywhere, He's a sweetheart too, He's just wow he's amazing, He's such a good friend, In the Beginning, It's totally requited Sam just doesn't know, M/M, Sam Wilson Feels, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is So Done, Sam Wilson is a Cinnamon Roll, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sam Wilson is a Saint, Sam Wilson-centric, Superhero Sam Wilson, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7353355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImportantDemon/pseuds/VeryImportantDemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Sam meets Bucky, he thinks he's already a little bit in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hello, it's you, it's going to be you

**Author's Note:**

> Where did this come from? Who knows, but have fun. 
> 
> The title comes from this quote from Mhairi McFarlane - "It was not... Love at first sight exactly, but... Familiarity. Like, oh, hello, it's you. It's going to be you."
> 
> (To my X-Men fans out there, stay tuned! There's more Kurt/Peter and a Peter parental reveal coming soon!)

Before Sam meets Bucky, he thinks he's already a little bit in love.  
  
Steve's told him so much about the guy. Maybe it's hero-worship, but God, Barnes sounds amazing. Back in the day, he happened to be Mr. Back-Alley Hero's back-up; Bucky Barnes is the guy that pulled Steve's ass out of the fire more times than Steve says he could count. And of course, Sam's heard the stories. He's a military man, after all. Sam has seen photographs from back in the day and sketches of Bucky that Steve's drawn, too, and Bucky Barnes doesn't look too bad either.  
  
But Sam Wilson didn't fall in love with the pictures. He falls in love with the stories. The fairytales.

* * *

He chastises himself for the crush as the search for James Buchanan Barnes continues. It's just a silly crush, and that's all it'll ever be.

* * *

 

There is noise that Bucky has been sighted in Rio de Janeiro, but when Sam goes to investigate, it turns out to just be noise, and Sam tries to tell himself that he's disappointed because he couldn't find Bucky for Steve.  
  
He tells himself that but when he's laying in the motel bed with nothing but the dark and the picture of Bucky Steve had left with him, it doesn't work.  
  
He picks up key chain at the airport the next morning.

* * *

Sam's looking. He's still looking.  
  
He looks before Sokovia.  
  
He looks after.  
  
He won't stop looking.

* * *

Sam catches a glimpse of him in Paris.  
  
Sam is sitting at a cafè table across the street, next to a river. He's sipping coffee, his sunglasses covering his eyes, and he's watching, waiting.  
  
And then there he is. He's wearing, from what Sam can tell, baggy jeans and a red long-sleeved shirt with a thick jacket. Too thick for this weather. A baseball cap, solid blue, rests on his head. It's pulled low, but Sam knows who he's looking for. He knows it's Bucky Barnes.  
  
He takes another sip of his coffee and he waits.  
  
Bucky looks across the street and makes eye contact with Sam for a split second. Sam moves to stand and Bucky walks up to the edge of the street. Sam sees him up until a bus speeds across the street between them. When the bus is gone, so is Bucky, like he had never been there at all.  
  
Like a ghost.

* * *

Sam puts his napkin from the café into his pocket.

* * *

After Paris, Sam looks harder.  
  
He tells himself it's for Steve and for Bucky, and it is, but that's not the only reason.

* * *

Sam sees Bucky again in Bogota.  
  
Steve tells him stories over the phone.  
  
Sam falls a little more in love.  
  
He takes the pen left on the desk in his motel room. The writing on it is in Spanish, but he can read it, no problem.  
  
He keeps looking.

* * *

Sam sees Bucky once again in Egypt.  
  
They are at an open air market. People are bustling all around , speaking in languages Sam barely knows and buying things with purposes he's clueless to. There's something beautiful about all of it.  
  
He steps forward to a booth that's selling dream catchers, examining the products. He selects one that has a red rim, blue strings, and white-and-black feathers. He buys it, smiles at the man, and denies a bag in favor of tucking it in his pocket. He turns to leave, and when he looks up, he sees that familiar baseball cap.  
  
Bucky looks him in the eye and Sam looks right back, and in that moment, time stills. The bustle of the market stops and the pyramids in the distance fade away, and then it's just Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, looking at each other.  
  
Sam takes a step, and he has half a mind to shout at Bucky, to tell him to stop, but he doesn't want to force anything. Bucky'll come along when he's ready to come. But he does want to catch up enough to him to tell him that someone's been looking.  
  
Bucky turns, and Sam starts jogging, and he notes that Bucky has a backpack this time. Sam calls out to him, but Bucky keeps going. Sam jogs faster, but there's a crowd closing in between them, and suddenly, Bucky is once again gone.  
  
Sam is starting to feel like this mission to find Bucky is a fool's errand. Trying catch smoke with his bare hands.  
  
But he keeps looking anyway.

* * *

After Egypt, Sam starts to think that maybe the reason he keeps finding Bucky and then loosing him is because Bucky doesn't want to be found. He's not ready to be found.  
  
Sam decides then that he'd follow Bucky Barnes around the world anyhow. He is going to be there when Bucky is ready to be found.

* * *

This time, it is a park in Munich, Germany where Sam sees him.  
  
He's taking a walk while waiting for a lead or a call from Steve when he passes the playground. There are children climbing all over it, shouting to each other in German and giggling as they play. He smiles, turning to round the park.  
  
There is a bench on the other side of it, and sitting on it is one Bucky Barnes.  
  
He's watching the children play, but after a few beats of Sam watching him from a few yards away, he looks up and meets his eyes. "Hey," Sam says, and Bucky doesn't move this time, his eyes fixed on the children. "Hey," Bucky repeats. His hands are on his legs, resting palms down, and he is wearing gloves.  
  
"He's looking for you, you know," Sam says. Bucky pauses and doesn't say anything, so Sam keeps going. "I'm looking for you." Bucky is silent. "I know," he says finally. He picks up his backpack, sets it in his lap, and unzips it. Sam catches a glimpse of notebooks upon notebooks shoved inside, but Bucky takes out a book, a hardback volume, nestled within the lined pages. He sets it on his lap, zips up the backpack, and slings it over his shoulders.  
  
Bucky reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pen, and flicks open the book. On the bookmark, he scrawls a message Sam can't read from here.  
  
He closes book, sets it on the bench beside him, and stands up, his back to Sam, and he doesn't speak. He half-turns, as if he were about to speak, but doesn't, and walks away. He leaves the book.  
  
He never actually looks at Sam.  
  
Sam lets Bucky go. He wonders if his theory is right. Regardless, wherever Bucky is, Sam will be there if he's ready.  
  
He walks up to the bench and sits down, picking up the book. It's in German, but he can tell well enough what it is. It's a book of fairytales, and not the Grimm kind one would expect to find here. It's the feel-good kind, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty and Snow White.  
  
He flips through it, finding gorgeous, glossy illustrations. One page is bookmarked.  
  
It is the page in the tale of Sleeping Beauty where the prince will not stop looking for the princess. The bookmark reads ' _You're beautiful because you're patient. Thank you, B'_  
  
Sam falls a little bit farther, a little bit deeper, in love.

* * *

When he gets back to his apartment in DC, he finds an unused backpack in the back of his closet. He carefully places in it a keychain, a napkin, and a pen. He dreams on the dreamcatcher before he packs that away, too. Last, he puts in a book of fairytales, a slim piece of paper marking one page.  
  
Next time he goes to see Bucky, he takes the backpack.

* * *

The next time he sees Bucky, it's in London, England. As long as he's here, Sam thinks he might as well pretend to be a local. He pulls on a light jacket, stashes the backpack in the dresser's bottom drawer, and looks up the nearest bar. He finds one that is a brief 5 minutes stroll from the hotel.  
  
He arrives in about 20 minutes, late because of stopping to help a single mother balance the groceries and a young daughter into her apartment. Well, she called it a flat, but it was an apartment to Sam. He is American to a fault, after all.  
  
He finally arrives, his hand in his pockets. He smiles at the atmosphere. It's cozy, but full. He takes a seat at a stool near the bar and orders a drink. He watches the people watching soccer - football, he reminds himself. Something in him lights up, seeing these complete strangers so wholly enjoying something. He likes it when people are happy.  
  
Sam reaches for his beer, finding it empty. He looks up, about to call out to the bartender for another, but the bartender is already right in front of him, setting a full mug in front of him on top of a napkin. He frowns and opens his mouth, but the bartender shakes his head. "Regards of the gentleman in the baseball cap at the other end of the bar."  
  
Sam looks up towards the other end of the bar, and surely enough, there's Bucky Barnes. He locks eyes with Sam for a split second, the corner of his lip barely, barley twitching, before standing and vacating the bar from the back exit.  
  
Sam smiles and picks up the mug, taking a swig. The beer tastes wonderful against his lips.  
  
When he's drained his mug, he stand up to leave. He picks up the napkin, crumpling it in his hand to throw it away. He stops when he sees a speck of black. He unfurls it, surprised to see a message scrawled in black ink.  
  
' _You're beautiful when you're watching happy people. Thank you, B'_  
  
Sam folds up the napkin and sticks it in his pocket.  
  
When he leaves the bar, he's beaming, and the stars seem brighter.

* * *

When he gets back to his room, he takes the folded-up napkin and gently places it inside his backpack.

* * *

Bucky heads for Amsterdam next. He's there a week or so after London, so Sam doesn't even have time to go home. (He wonders if his apartment in DC is home anymore. He's spent some good time there, but... But he has traveled so much. He's a different person, now. His apartment feels small.)  
  
Sam follows Bucky everywhere, and does every step terrify him.  
  
They are along the Amstel river when they see each other again. It reminds Sam of Paris, one of the first times they saw each other. Different city, different country, but there the pair of them are. They are on separate sides of the street, pale petals floating on the early morning breeze.  
  
Sam has his hands in his pockets, waiting at the curb for the traffic to pass before he crosses to be closer to the river. He looks up over the traffic, and he sees him. There's Bucky Barnes. He's sitting at a table, scribbling on something with a dark pen.  
  
Bucky pauses in his writing, the corner of his lip twitching again. Almost a smile. Almost... He looks up finally, and notices Sam. He clicks the pen and sticks it in the pocket of his jacket. He doesn't look back down at his hands, but they're resting, loose, on the tabletop.  
  
He reaches over with his left, his fingers brushing the brim of the baseball cap. He waits there for a moment in time before he pulls it off and lays it gently on top of the table, covering whatever he's been writing.  
  
His eyes don't leave Sam's the whole time he works.  
  
Bucky rises to his feet. He lifts his right hand to the tip of his eyebrow, holding the salute for a few seconds before sticking his hands in his pockets and strolling leisurely along the river. The petals from the trees obscure his exit until there is no more Bucky, just pale pink and what he left on the table.  
  
There's finally a break in traffic. It would normally be too small for him to dart across, but he needs to see what Bucky left before someone else gets to it. He darts across the street, dodging bikes and a few small cars. But he doesn't care that he almost gets hit.  
  
He jogs up to the table, where the hat still sits. He picks it up, delicately, his head still buzzing. He reads the note. ' _You're beautiful while you wait for me. Thank you, B_ '  
  
Sam begins to suspect that his life is a fairytale, and he muses on this as he puts the hat on and slides the note into his pocket.

* * *

They head to England together - separately but linked in some inexplicable way - next. However, Sam didn't really head there for Bucky. He leaves his apartment in DC in a suit for a funeral for one of the bravest women he only met a handful of times.  
  
(Steve says to consider himself lucky. He takes Sam to see Peggy a few times and she's always so kind to him and remembers he's called Sam, even if she doesn't remember he's visited before. He's honored the time she mistook him for one of the Howling Commandos.)  
  
After the funeral, Sam hangs back with Steve. He plans to stay as long as Steve needs him too, because Peggy Carter is one of the only people from Steve's past life who's still around. After a few minutes of them sitting together in the silence of the almost empty church, Steve speaks. He tells Sam a story of one of the few times he, Peggy, and Bucky ran around together. It is full of Howling Commandos and weapons and they all fight beautifully in Sam's mind, each word painting a beautiful picture. It is a great story, but as he's finishing, Steve falters. He asks if he can have a few moments alone with her.  
  
Sam agrees immediately, and he squeezes the big guy into a hug as he leaves. Bringing Bucky home seems more pressing, now. Bucky Barnes is the only link - other than himself and his shield - that lived then and still lives today.  
  
He loosens his tie as he walks back to the hotel. He and Steve had booked a hotel room for the weekend so they could hang around for a bit after the funeral. He heads up the elevator towards his and Steve's room. It's on the top floor, so he's in the elevator a while, quietly thinking.  
  
He's glad he could be here for Steve, but a part of his heart longs for Bucky.  
  
He has the tie off and hung loosely around his neck as he enters the room. He digs around in the drawer of the nightstand between the beds and relaxes when he finds his backpack, pulling it out. Who would steal it? he wonders. It's just a bag of knickknacks that mean nothing to anyone but him, and maybe Bucky.  
  
He drops his tie on the bed and pulls off his jacket. He begins to unbutton his dress shirt, about to change into something more comfortable, when the blast throws him back against the wall.

* * *

Everything goes black and fades in and out for a few minutes. He's not sure what happened, and he had hit his head really hard on the wall, so he's sure that's to be expected. He probably has a concussion, and the back of his head feels sticky and wet. He knows it's probably blood, but he can't bring himself to care.  
  
He tries to peel himself out of the wall, but when he looks down and sees that the front of his clean white shirt is slowly being consumed by bright red blood, it dissuades him. The military part of him tells him it's probably shrapnel. The military part of him also notes that the nightstand has been obliterated. He blinks, his eyesight fuzzy. He needs to... He needs to... His heart tightens when he notices his backpack on the other side of the room. It's a miracle that it didn't fly out the shattered window or turn into a projectile and hurtle across the room.  
  
The backpack. He needs his backpack. He tries to pull himself up to get to it. He stops when he starts thinking rationally again. The blast hadn't been too powerful, because all though their room had been destroyed and the window blown out, it didn't look like anyone else had been. But for all he knows, there could be more planted throughout the hotel. He needs... He needs... He needs to get the people to safety.  
  
He tries to pull himself into a standing position, but before he can, a figure enters the room through the door. Sam locked it when he entered, but the blast damaged the hinges and the lock. It's the bomber, he thinks, because he's tired, so, so tired, and his head hurts, and he's bleeding.  
  
The figure crosses the room, being careful to miss the debris scattered about it, and hooks the strap of Sam's backpack in his gloved fingers. He swings it gently over his shoulder, slipping into the other strap before turning.  
  
That's when Sam sees his face. He's not wearing the cap anymore.  
  
Bucky.  
  
Bucky crouches down beside him, and damn him, he's smiling faintly. "Good to see you," he tells Sam. "Although I prefer our usual meetings."  
  
Sam struggles to smile, reaching out for him. "Sh, sh," Bucky tells him, leaning forward slightly as if to shield Sam from the outside world. "Sh... I got you. I got you." He puts one arm under Sam's knees and the other supports his back and he heaves and then Sam's in his arms and Bucky's leaving the room. "I got you. You're my Prince Charmin', right? It's the princess' turn."  
  
Sam tries to speak, but Bucky hushes him again, because there's blood on the corner of his lips. "Thank you," Bucky tells him as he heads down the stairs. "Thank you."  
  
Sam latches onto Bucky's words, and suddenly thank you is the only thing he knows. He wants so desperately to ask for what, but he doesn't. He can't.  
  
Time runs funny. Maybe it's because Sam has a concussion. But however long later, Bucky sets him down, jarring him out of his black and gray world with its soundtrack of thank you, thank you, thank you.  
  
"I'll see you again," Bucky tells him. "I think... I think I'm almost ready. How about Ecuador next, huh, Sam? South America. Nice and warm. When I see you again, it'll be... It'll be sunny, alright? It'll be sunny. I think you'd like that."  
  
Bucky's rambling, and even in his half-conscious state, Sam knows it. It's kind of adorable, or it would be if he could be more aware of it, because Bucky is talking. He's actually talking to Sam, not just in these half sentences and notes the war veteran has become accustomed to. Bucky shrugs the backpack off and lays it beside him. He crouches down next to Sam, almost leaning over him like he had done in the hotel room, almost protecting him.  
  
"I'll see you again," he says. "Ecuador. Remember, Sam. Thank you." Sam blinks, and he can tell Bucky's hesitating. He leans forward slightly, but backs up. He brings Sam's hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to it before turning and disappearing like smoke in the wind.  
  
Sam fades away watching him.

* * *

When Sam wakes up, he's in a hospital room. He shifts his weight, wincing at soreness, but he feels a hand on his arm. His heart jumps and he hopes it's Bucky, but when he discovers the hand belongs to Steve, his heart sinks slightly. He pushes that thought back, because he's so glad to see Steve, to know he's okay.  
  
Steve asks if Sam's okay, and Sam tells him, with a wry smile, that he's been better, but he's good. He's good. It's Sam's turn to ask a question, so he asks Steve what happened. Steve tells him that someone planted bombs throughout the hotel. Bucky Barnes was seen leaving the scene.  
  
Sam's heart seizes again. Bucky. They're going to blame Bucky. Sam tells Steve that Bucky didn't do it. Bucky was only there because he got Sam out. He carried Sam down the stairs.  
  
Steve believes him, but says that the police won't. Sam believes that. Steve also tells him that they need to find Bucky first.  
  
Sam knows exactly where he's going to be.  
  
He asks where his backpack is. Steve smiles and tells him it's right beside the bed. Someone who found him on the sidewalk outside the hotel brought it over for him.

* * *

What Steve doesn't tell Sam, he finds out on his own.  
  
He is almost the 13th causality.

* * *

As soon as they release him from the hospital, Sam is on a plane to Ecuador with only his backpack as a carry on. (He wants to ask Bucky why he risked getting framed for the crime to save him. He wants to ask Bucky why he thanked him.)  
  
Steve promises to call him with updates regarding their search for evidence to prove Bucky's innocence regularly, so Sam's phone is always in his pocket.  
  
He disembarks from the plane and bypasses baggage claim. His decorated passport and minimal luggage ushers him through customs quickly. Almost as soon as he's out of the airport, he's finding a ride to Otavalo. It's only 2 hours, so he grabs a bus.  
  
Bucky is right. It is sunny, and Sam really likes Ecuador.

* * *

The colors are so bright, and the market fills up with happy people. Sam loves watching happy people, so he's right at home here. He examines the products as he wanders through the market, people watching more than anything. He's so absorbed in watching people, families laughing together, faces bright as the colors surrounding him, that he doesn't even notice when someone makes off with his bottle of painkillers in his pocket.  
  
It's crowded, but it's so bright. Everything looks so interesting and the people selling the items look so proud. The colors of the market in Otavalo are so natural to Sam. This is what he sees. He sees everyone's true colors. He sees the bright in everything, and seeing all of this in one place... Otavalo is beautiful, but not as beautiful as its people.  
  
Sam rounds another row of stalls, and there, he sees him. Bucky has his back to the row across from him, facing a man who's selling bracelets. He appears to be bargaining and he looks like he's happy. Sam's heart swells again, because Bucky Barnes is happy. He loves it so much when Bucky Barnes is happy. He's talking in their language, talking with his hands, too, as he barters the price of whatever he's trying to buy. Apparently he gets it down to something manageable, because a few moments later, Bucky hands the man money and the man presses something into his hand Sam can't see. He turns to leave, sticking his hands in his pockets, and that's when he sees Sam.  
  
He takes his right hand out and waves slightly. He stops again, whatever the gift was loosely secured in his closed left hand. With the air of a man who's practiced, he reaches over with his left. He hooks his left thumb under his right glove, and in one quick motion, pulls it off. Bucky unfolds his left hand, and whatever he's purchased tumbles into the glove.  
  
Bucky takes a step towards him, and so does Sam. Sam is not going to let him do this alone. They are a few feet from each other in a few seconds. "Hey," Bucky says, and Sam's surprised he spoke first. "Hey," he echoes, smiling. Bucky hesitates for a second before he smiles, too. He holds out the glove.  
  
"Here," he says. "Sorry I couldn't wrap it." Sam laughs, taking the glove. "No, it's fine," he says. "I love it." And whatever it is, he loves it already because Bucky gave it to him. He peers inside the glove, reaching in with a few fingers to retrieve to gift.  
  
It's a bracelet, woven together and made of some sort of yarn. The bulk of it is white, with black rimming the edges. But maybe Sam's favorite part is in the center, there's a bird done in brown taking flight.  
  
Maybe Sam gets a little choked up. He'll deny it, but maybe he does.  
  
"Okay, now I really love it," Sam says with a laugh. He tucks the glove under his arm, wraps the bracelet around one wrist, and begins to attempt to tie it.  
  
"Let me," Bucky says, and Sam smiles and lets him.  
  
Bucky's head is ducked over Sam's wrists, his dark hair long and messy and beautiful. His fingers as the brush over Sam's arm are light like ghosts or butterflies, especially the feeling of his bare fingertips. It's such a simple thing, but Bucky offered the touch and he's not flinching away from it. It's a step forward. It's a huge step forward.  
  
Bucky steps back when he's finished and looks up at Sam, and he's grinning. Not just a smile, a real, actual grin, and Sam's heart just about bursts. He's almost ready. He's getting better so fast, and he's almost ready to come home.  
  
"You really like it?" he asks shyly, and Sam has to bite down on his bottom lip so he doesn't have to excuse himself to put himself back together. "Yeah," Sam says, beaming. "I really do." Bucky smiles back, using his bare hand to tuck a lock of unruly hair behind his ear. "You're gonna fly," Bucky tells him, "like that bird. It's in your heart, the sky."  
  
Sam pauses before he speaks. "So are you," he says. "You're gonna fly so high and it's..." He tapers off. "It's going to be beautiful."  
  
Bucky smiles sheepishly again but after a moment he speaks. "How did you know that I'd be here of all places in Ecuador?" Sam laughs and smiles. He can't stop smiling around Bucky, not today. "Otavalo," he says. "It's... It reminded me of Egypt. You remember Egypt?" Bucky laughs again, and it's a beautiful sound, and Sam definitely thinks angels must have been involved. "Egypt," Bucky echoes. "Yeah, 'course I remember. I didn't know if you would."  
  
Sam nods. "Of course I would. I remember every time we've... Met." He smiles faintly, just a slight upward tilt of his lips instead of a full on grin. "I've got... I've got a keychain from Rio, where I almost saw you. A napkin from Paris. A pen from the hotel in Bogota. A dreamcatcher from Egypt. The book you gave me from Munich. The napkin from London. Your hat from Amsterdam. All the notes."  
  
Bucky blushes so faintly if he hadn't been looking, he wouldn't have noticed. "You kept all that stuff?" he asks. "Why?" Sam shrugs. "Memories," he says. "They have good memories." Bucky smiles again, and it's so soft and beautiful.  
  
"I guess we'll have to make some more," he says, sticking his hands in his pockets, and Sam agrees.  
  
Bucky trails off, thinking. "How about Obera next?" he suggests. "It's a little... Random, but I hear it's nice this time of year."  
  
"Obera," Sam says with a nod. "See ya there, Buck." Bucky takes a step back without his eyes ever leaving Sam's face. He salutes Sam again and then turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving nothing but memories.

* * *

Sam is on his way to Obera when he gets a call from Steve. He says they've done it. They found a prostethic of sorts, a mask of Bucky's face, in some dead creep's hotel room. Bucky's name has been cleared.  
  
Sam's heart lights up like the night sky in Otavalo.

* * *

Sam books a hotel room in Obera as close to the city's airport as he can get it. Sam is an army man, he's been through temperatures considerably worse than this, but there's something about Obera. The air is thick and it's hard to breathe. There's this dust that seems to come from everywhere and it's settling deep in Sam's lungs. He decides, with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his bracelet on his wrist, that he's going to wait out Bucky this time. He's going to let Barnes come to him, like he's sure he will.  
  
He'll come.  
  
Sam's been in Obera for two days, waiting and breathing in dust, when he finally sees Bucky again.  
  
The only channels the TV has are in Spanish, so Sam thanks someone upstairs that he's fluent in it, picks a _telenovela_ , and settles in to watch. He's three episodes in when  there's a knock at the door, and Sam frowns. He glances at the alarm beside the bed, a crack in the display. It's only 4:30, surely it's too early for cleaning?  
  
"One second," Sam calls. He flicks the TV off - he does have a reputation to uphold - and crosses the small room to the door.  
  
He flicks the lock on the door knob and then slides the chain lock off. He pulls the door open and waiting in the doorway is Bucky Barnes. He's wearing his jacket, which is definitely too thick for Obera. Most things are too thick for Obera. But he's not wearing a baseball hat and he's not hiding, but his does have his backpack slung over one shoulder.  
  
The dust that's plagued Sam since he stepped off the plane, the air that's like soup in his lungs, doesn't seem to affect Bucky at all.  
  
"Hey," Bucky says with a faint smile, and Sam grins, too. "Hey," he says. Bucky shuffles his feet on the carpet of the hallway for a moment before looking up at Sam. "Can I come in?" he asks. Immediately, Sam takes a step back, pulling the door open all the way. "Of course," he says. "Anytime," he adds, and he really means it.  
  
Bucky smiles softly again and slips inside, watching as Sam closes the door and locks it behind him. "Sorry it's not much," Sam says, turning around and nodding to the room. The room is very bare; a single twin bed, a nightstand, a TV, and a dresser is all the furniture decorating it.  
  
"But, uh... _Mi casa es su casa_ , I suppose," Sam adds with a smile. Bucky's still smiling, Sam thinks, but right now, he's doing something else. He let his backpack fall to his hand, and he releases the strap and lets it hit he carpet with a soft thud next to Sam's.He's shrugging his jacket off, next, and Sam's heart speeds up. He's taking his jacket off. He must really feel at home here. He's not afraid of who he is anymore, because he's stripping off his disguises. He has been all along. Sam wonders what it is about this dingy hotel room in Obera that makes him unafraid.  
  
(He doesn't think until later that maybe it's not the hotel room. Maybe it's not Obera. Maybe it's Sam.)  
  
He finally pulls it off his left shoulder, and Sam discovers he's not wearing gloves, either. His left hand shines dully in the flickering lights of Sam's room. Bucky scans the room and finds Sam's backpack. He drops his jacket on top of it and turns back to Sam, who's still standing next to the door.  
  
"Hey," he says again, pushing his messy hair back with his right hand. Sam beams brightly, and privately, Bucky thinks that smile could rival the sun. "Hey," Sam says.  
  
Bucky sticks his right hand out. "I'm Bucky," he says. "Bucky Barnes." Sam takes a few steps forward and he shakes Bucky's hand firmly. His hand is calloused and warm and alive, and Sam doesn't want to let go, but eventually he does. "I'm Sam," he says. "Nice to meet you, Bucky."  
  
And he really means it.

* * *

They end up on Sam's bed, on top of the blankets. Sam's sitting almost straight up, leaning against the headboard. Bucky is beside him, his long legs almost dangling off the bed, because they aren't tiny guys, and the bed is only a twin. Bucky's head is on Sam's shoulder and they're watching Sam's _telenovela_. Sam is translating, because for all the languages Bucky knows, Spanish isn't one of them.  
  
"What's happening now?" Bucky asks. Sam smiles. "See, her?" he says. "With the funny feathered scarf?" Bucky nods. "That's Jessica," Sam continues. "She's in love with..." Sam waits until someone else crosses into the shot, a man who doesn't speak a lot, who keeps his head low and cleans. "Him. But he's just the _ayuda_. The help, I suppose. She doesn't think her parents will approve." He paused again as Bucky hums in acknowledgment. "Ah," he says. "I see."  
  
A few more seconds go by, and the woman in the scarf talks to the other man. "He's in love with her, too," Sam says. "He doesn't know she feels the same way. He doesn't know how to tell her."  
  
He falls quiet as the woman pushes him up against the wall of the room, and they're making out furiously. Sam smiles faintly as it fades to black with a commercial taking the space. The two of them are silent for a few moments before Bucky speaks again.  
  
"I know the feeling."

* * *

It's not very late, only around 8:00, and they've been watching Sam's _telenovela_ for hours when Sam starts to doze. Breathing in Obera is hard. The humidity makes the air thick so that the constant in, out, in, out, which Sam does constricts his chest and exhausts him. He's still not completely healed from the bombing, either. Sam breathes in and out and in again, and he stumbles over his words, translating Spanish to English. "It's alright," Bucky says. He's occupied himself by laying against Sam's chest, listening to him translate, and tracing slow and easy circles on the back of Sam's hand with his metal fingers. "You can sleep. I'll watch over you."  
  
Sam smiles faintly and he tapers off. "Thank you," he says, but Bucky shakes his head just slightly. "No," he says. "Don't thank me." Sam laughs softly. "Where next?" he asks, pulling his breaths in and out slowly, carefully. It's Obera's air; Obera's air, and the fact that he doesn't want to disturb Bucky.  
  
Bucky hums for a moment, still tracing his circles, still watching Sam's hand. "You'll see," he says and Sam cracks a smile. "I will," Sam promises. "I'll see. I'll be there for you," he continues. "I'll be there for you, wherever you go, Bucky," Sam promises.  
  
Bucky's heart constricts and then lifts. He's starting to let himself believe in good things. He's starting to let himself believe again that good can happen to him, and he decides he's going to start with believing this.  
  
"Thank you," he says quietly, so quietly,, and he falls silent as Sam does, leaning closer.  
  
Sam is warm, and Bucky loves it, despite the heat. Sam is beautiful.  
  
He waits a few minutes, his hand stilling, resting on top of Sam's so gently he might never have been there at all. " _Creo que te amo, mi halcón_ ," he says, whispers, in broken Spanish, his accent thickly American. It's the accent of a Brooklyn man.  
  
Sam doesn't answer, his chest rising and falling softly in sleep, but he is there, and Bucky counts that.

* * *

Sam wakes up alone.  
  
He wakes up alone, but the TV is turned off, he's not wearing shoes anymore, and he's under a blanket.  
  
He tells himself as he throws the blanket back that Bucky wasn't ever going to stay, but he's still just a little disappointed. He swallows and turns towards the night stand, peering at the clock. It's almost 5:00 in the morning, still early. He remembers vaguely that he'd fallen asleep early, so he's not surprised he's woken up so early. He sighs and almost drops back down on his back, but he sees something first. On the hotel stationary, right next to the clock, is a note scribbled in black pen.  
  
Sam leans over and picks it up, frowning, but inside, his heart beats quicker. Bucky had left him notes, sometimes... Maybe...  
  
_They're yours now,_ the note reads. _Take care of them. Thank you, B._  
  
Sam frowns again, the note still in his hand. It's definitely from Bucky, because who else would it be from, but what are they? Bucky must have left something here for him.  
  
He throws the blanket back all the way, kicking it off his feet and throwing his legs over the bed. He stands up, intent upon finding whatever it was that Bucky left him, but he doesn't have to look for long. He turns his head and he sees it, half covered with Bucky's jacket that he'd also left.  
  
The backpack.  
  
He grabs it and the jacket, his feet shuffling over the dirty carpet. He drops back down on the bed, the old mattress dipping under his weight a little. Sam sets the backpack beside him, going through the pockets of the jacket first. Maybe Bucky left him something else in the pockets. He sticks his hand in the left one and comes up empty, but in the right one, he pulls out a folded piece of white paper.  
  
Sam lets the jacket fall over his lap as he unfolds it. There are only four words written on it.  
  
_Brooklyn. Thank you, B._  
  
Brooklyn. Brooklyn. _Brooklyn_. They're going to Brooklyn next. Bucky's going home.

* * *

He doesn't know how long he sits there holding the piece of paper that simply says _Brooklyn._ His heart is light and breathing in Obera is so easy now.

* * *

Eventually, Sam puts both of the notes in the pocket on his backpack with the others, and turns to Bucky's backpack. He feels uneasy going through it; this is Bucky's backpack. It's private, and Bucky deserves that much. He deserves privacy.  
  
But Bucky did leave it to him in the note. They're yours now, he said. They're Sam's now, whatever is in here. He recalls in Munich, when Bucky had pulled Sam's book of fairy tales out, seeing notebooks and loose leaf sheets of paper.  
  
Whatever was in those notebooks...  It's Sam's, now.  
  
Cautiously, carefully, he unzips it, and it is notebooks. At least a dozen, maybe more. As he sifts through them, he decides that it's definitely more. He starts in the back and pulls out the oldest looking one, one with the cardboard backing bent and creased and a corner of the red cover missing.  
  
Sam opens it.

* * *

Bucky hasn't left him paper. Bucky has left him memories.

* * *

Everything is in the notebooks. Everything from when he was a little kid making the streets of Brooklyn his own to the train. Everything from the Winter Soldier to plums in Bucharest. He's written about everything in here, and he's given it all to Sam.

* * *

Sam feels like he has, at least partially, lived Bucky's life by the time he gets to the last one. The cover is simple and blue, and it looks well-used but taken care of. He flicks it open.  
  
At first, he thinks Bucky was simply writing about birds. One specific bird, but just a bird nonetheless. He talks about how this bird has stars and clouds in his eyes and the sky in his heart. He talks about how this bird is beautiful, how it takes the air under his wings and believes, how this bird soars.  
  
Sam doesn't realize until a few pages in that he's reading what Bucky thought of him in DC. As it goes on, he's sure, it'll be what Bucky thinks of him now.  
  
His heart tightens and he quickly closed the notebook. His heart rate speeds up and he doesn't know what to do. He takes a deep breath and his lungs are filled with dust again. The notebook he holds right now... This notebook is how Bucky feels about him. This notebook...  
  
Sam takes another shaky breath. He owes it to Bucky to understand. He owes it to Bucky to do that. He can do that much. He can read his memories.  
  
He slowly opens the notebook again, his thumb having saved the page, and he starts to read again.  
  
_I broke his wing_ , Bucky writes, this memory, this feeling, whatever this is, on a page all its own. _I broke the bird's wing. He was so beautiful and I broke him. I tore him dow_ n.  
  
He skips a few lines before he writes something else.  
  
_I'm sorry._

* * *

Sam doesn't read anymore. He does owe it to Bucky, but he can't read anymore of it today. He's read so much.

* * *

Sam moves his memories into Bucky's backpack, and he holds all of them close to his heart.

* * *

As usual, Bucky is there first.  
  
When, weeks after Obera, Sam makes his way to Brooklyn, Bucky is already there. Like he always is, Bucky is there first.  
  
Sam picks his way across the busy street before closing the gap between him and Bucky.  
  
Bucky is sitting at a table outside of an old pizzeria, at a table bathed in the sun. He is sitting in the sun with no baseball cap, no glasses, and no gloves. Not even his jacket. He's Bucky Barnes, and he's not afraid. He's Bucky Barnes, and he's alive.  
  
He spins the straw in his drink slowly for a few moments, watching the ice cubes bump into each other and the glass before he looks up and sees Sam crossing the street, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He smiles faintly, the corner of his lip barely twitching. He waits, still slowly spinning his straw with a silver finger, until Sam takes a seat right in front of him.  
  
"Hey," Sam says. He shifts his weight and puts the backpack under the table at his feet. "Hey," Bucky says back, his finger stilling. "So you figured it out," Bucky said with a laugh. Sam nods, smiling. "Yeah," he says. "I figured it out. I'm starting to think you liked teasing me all this time."  
  
Bucky leans back in his chair and shakes his head slightly, grinning. He looks so carefree and happy that it brings a smile to Sam's face. He's holding onto the table with his left hand, balancing his chair on two legs. "How'd you do it?" he asks, even though Sam gets the impression he already knows.  
  
"The books," Sam says. "This place..." He nods to the restaurant  behind them.  "It was the first memory there. Your first memory was your mom bringing you here for pizza for your birthday. Special treat." Bucky grins again, or maybe he just hasn't stopped. "Great," he says. "You're great."  
  
Sam laughs. "Ah, I'm not that special," he says. "But yeah, sure. I guess I'm great." He pauses and for a stretch they do not speak; Bucky is intent on balancing his chair and Sam is intent on watching him. But eventually, Sam speaks.  
  
"I don't get one thing, though," he says. Bucky looks up, letting his chair thump to all fours. "What?" he asks, meeting Sam's eyes. "Why here," Sam starts. "Why me." Bucky tilts his head and frowns. "What do you mean?" he asks, and Sam continues.  
  
"Well..." Sam tapers off, chewing on his lip. "You said in the notebook that you didn't bring dates here. No girls, no guys. Not even Steve. So why me?"  
  
Bucky looks down at the tabletop, thinking for a few beats. "Well," he begins. "I don't really know. You know how there are some things... Some things that are so important to you, so unique and special to you, so... Yours, that you don't want to share them with anyone else? You want to keep it in your little bubble with you and keep it yours?" Sam nods. He does get the feeling. At that, Bucky keeps going. "Well... This place was like that. It was my and my ma's special place. Our tradition. And when she passed, it was my thing. Just mine. And I wanted to keep it like that. But then..." He stops again, shyly glancing up at Sam before looking down. "I don't know. When you started looking for me... When I remembered it... I wanted to show you. I wanted to show you so bad, and I don't know why. I'd kept it mine for so many years, but... I wanted to show you."  
  
Sam isn't getting choked up. He's not, definitely.  
  
(Except that he is, a little.)  
  
"Wow," he says. "That's... Thanks, Bucky," he says. It's not enough, but he can't begin to describe how honored he is that Bucky's shared his special place with Sam. "Nah, it's nothin'," Bucky dismisses like he knows what Sam's feeling. "You followed me all around the world."  
  
Sam laughs softly. "I guess I did," he says, and they fall into silence again.  
  
"I had a crush on you," Sam blurts out finally. "When Steve was first telling me about you, when I was looking, I... Had a crush on you." Bucky grins again and looks up at Sam, and his smile is so beautiful that it lights up Sam's heart. "I know," Bucky says, and he's balancing his chair again. "I didn't want to tell you," he says, "any of those times we met. You have to come first. I didn't want to force it on you."  
  
Bucky nods again, and he's still smiling. "Yeah," he said. "I get it. Thank you," he adds. "But... I know who I am now. I think... I think I'm good now. I want to stay here." He stops. "Well, not here here, but... Here." He nods to the table. "In the light. With..." He flushes just slightly. "With you, if you'll let me."  
  
It's Sam's turn to beam. "I think I'd like that," he says. Bucky drops his chair again, sitting even, and looks at Sam. "Really?" he says. Sam nods and laughs. "Yes, really. Of course, Bucky. Always."  
  
Bucky relaxed and smiles again.  
  
Something has been bugging Sam since Obera, though, and he finally has the chance to ask about it. "Why'd you give me your backpack?" he asks finally. "They're your memories. Why'd you give them to me?"  
  
Bucky shrugs. "I've got them already," he says, tapping the side of his head. "Up here. You followed me all around the world so I'd know someone was there and it was okay to come home. You gave me a piece of you, Sam." He gestures to the backpack under the table. "And now I'm giving you a piece of me."  
  
A piece of Bucky. Bucky has entrusted Sam with a piece of himself.  
  
"And... I guess while we're talkin' about it..." Bucky continues. "Since I first saw you in DC..." He trails off. "I fell, a little. But the real you..." He waves his right hand as if trying to summon the words he needs. "It's so much better," he says finally. "So much better, and I want to know the rest of it." He stops, takes a deep breath, and speaks again. "I think I've kinda been in love with you forever, too."  
  
Sam beams, a smile as beautiful as Rio de Janeiro, as Paris, as Bogota, as Egypt, as Munich, as Amsterdam, as London, as Otavalo and it's people, and it's as beautiful as Obera.  
  
Sam opens his mouth to speak.  
  
The sun shines brighter and they are happy to breathe.


End file.
